Over the Iron Wall
Prologue: Into the Unknown
[AN: Current aesthetic: doing meticulous research about Japanese time periods and geography for a purposely anachronistic story that takes place in what is possibly purgatory.]
A small piglet with a grey hide plays a piano and sings to a string accompaniment from fellow swine. 'Led through the mist, by the milk-light of moon, all that was lost is revealed. Our long bygone burdens, mere echoes of the spring, but where have we come, and where shall we end?'
The piglet sings with beautiful yet eerie lilt; completely unlike the normal, undignified squeal of a pig. The lights dim in chiaroscuro fashion. It seems to grin as it continues and you grin back, out of anticipation and spectacle. His song brings to mind strange, unrelated images and it reminds you of many things.
At first, you see that there is an unhappy girl of alabaster skin sitting with her dog with a kink in its tail. She and her pet are followed by an agricultural field being cultivated by a cat and you can see its opaque eyes meet your soul. The field changes into a bloody warzone where its' sole survivor of a meets a vapid woman's unfaithful gaze; you are revolted by the stench of decay and by the woman. Walls go up, floors unfold and newly painted masks glisten eagerly; you find that the hollow, open eyes remind you of hope.
A scent pervades the next image: the aroma of many teas, but the strongest flavour smelt if you're favourite, as the wall decor changes to something more western and navy, there is a man dressed like a foreigner wonders openly over a painting. A shadow crosses the image and flickers past your awed eyes and it becomes that of an elderly, sickly woman with her textiles.
With a pith snip of her tailor shears, the image becomes that of a pair of children playing with toy boats in a stream and you are reminded of your jaded innocence and naiveté. Their boat sails off and into darkness; a young lady attends a peculiar altar of bones and ashes that gives no resemblance of holiness; this unnerves you. She looks around and for a moment, she seems to meet the glassy eyes of a fish that rows a boat yet the bizarre fisherman seems lifetimes away from her. You can smell the swamp that the fish is fishing in and you are unsettled by what might be horror or what might be irony.
The next image the piglet's song brings your to mind is that of small, grabby hands plucking round apples. Yet the hands don't seem to match the image that follows which is of a girl, an honourable daughter, who does her chores without question whilst her father chops wood.
'If dreams can't come true, then why not pretend?' As the piglet's song draws to a peaceful conclusion, a lovely refrain, is that of autumnal leaves crossing a tall, iron wall that barriers life and death. It brings the strangely dreadful spoor of snowdrift. The song takes a commonly serene perfume and twists it into something disturbing.
'Somewhere lost in the clouded annals of history, lies a place that few have seen. A mysterious place, called The Unknown. Where long-forgotten stories are revealed to those who travel through the wood.'
There's a glint in the piglet's black, perhaps purple, eyes. It seems that he wishes to tell a story. You swallow thickly and are willing to listen. The smell of snow changes to something lighter, airier but also floral that puts an almost fruity tang on your tongue and hardened wax on your fingertips but you cannot name the flower whose perfume wafts through the dark theatre. But it does remind you of scarlet petals.
The piglet pauses and before he continues, he and his comrades bask in applause. You join in, enthused by the lovely song, and you look around. The applause booms in your ears and yet you can't see anyone. You can't see the outlines of the thunderous hands but you can hear them. Perhaps it's the darkness; the inky darkness as thick as the midnight hour. You do not question the invisibility of your fellow theatre-goers any more than that. You accept that they are there yet are not there; thin traces of humanity separated by space and, perhaps, time.
You face forward and the piglet seems to pick you out of the crowd. It winks at you. You wonder what will happen next.